


You Have To // Drarry

by saturnstiic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Mother, Angst, Assisted Suicide, Deatheaters, Depression, Drarry, Harco, Hogwarts, M/M, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Psychopath, Suicide, suicidenote, trigger warning, voldemort - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24368074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnstiic/pseuds/saturnstiic
Summary: "Imagine the worst nightmare you've ever had, take a moment to recall it. Then imagine you were unable to wake up from it because you are already awake. All those bizarre ideas that make so much sense when you're asleep start to make sense with your eyes wide open. My brain is like... like an extinguished fire. Once it burnt bright and I knew of happiness and light, but now I must die."-- a book in which draco malfoy is sentenced to death.DISCLAIMER; The characters in this story were created by J.K Rowling.  I do not own these characters, this is a fanfiction.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Kudos: 15





	You Have To // Drarry

**Author's Note:**

> "Imagine the worst nightmare you've ever had, take a moment to recall it. Then imagine you were unable to wake up from it because you are already awake. All those bizarre ideas that make so much sense when you're asleep start to make sense with your eyes wide open. My brain is like... like an extinguished fire. Once it burnt bright and I knew of happiness and light, but now I must die."
> 
> \-- a book in which draco malfoy is sentenced to death.
> 
> DISCLAIMER; The characters in this story were created by J.K Rowling. I do not own these characters, this is a fanfiction.

Death is a body or shadow that lurks in the dark, he crawls under little children's beds and he is always there. He is always there, following you and the closer he gets the sooner he will take you as his own. He is the ghost that people fear and he is the tormentor of the many corpses claimed by death. You know when your time is nearing its end because you can feel the chill of his icy breath as it tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. Death wasn't kind. Draco knew that. It snatched where it could, taking people who were far too young, far too good. It didn't pretend to care, it didn't pretend to distinguish. The hooded vale of death had hung over the world for a long time, always threatening. It had never touched Draco quite so close. Death had ripped away a part of him, the part of him that was most loved. Now Draco would sit staring for hours. His face sunken and haunted, his mind cold and empty. All his life he had feared death, suppressed dealing with the notion, never ready to depart. Always for him there would be tomorrow and the day after. Time was no longer his casual acquaintance, but leading him steadily onward whether his feet wanted to follow or not. Many say that when you die, you will meet a robed skeleton holding a scythe. Some say you go to Heaven or Hell. Some say that you are reincarnated. Some say you turn into a ghost, while some say you sleep for eternity. Draco was unsure if he believed any of that, or if it was just 'lights out'.

He snapped out of his deep thoughts as he heard a firm knock against the door of his dorm. He already knew who it was, based off the way the pupil knocked. It was Harry.

'Crush' was such an infantile word, one that must have been invented by older folks, the ones with an interest in belittling young love. Draco hated it. He didn't have a crush on Harry, he loved him with the passion hotter than a thousand suns. He was the one. He knew it. He was all that was in Draco's mind; he was his true north, his everything. One day they were supposed prove everyone wrong, run away together, start a family of their own. But now, he couldn't. Today was the day Draco would admit the truth to Harry, about Voldemort's wishes.

"Draco, honey? How are you?" Harry asked him softly, sitting on the bed next to Draco. There was so much to admire about Malfoy, but his raw honesty is the best part. Harry loved how his words spill out real slow as if the truth can take its time. It's as if there is a force behind them, yet the kind that is respectful and quiet - a determination that's observant and patient. And in those words is a wonderful compassion, an awareness of the vulnerability of others, of the sort that is born of painful experience. So when Draco tells Harry of his sorrows, Harry believed every word of it, because it's right there in everything he was, from his eyes to the pattern of his thoughts. The respect Harry held for him was like an aged cheese. It became stronger with age, more mature, more robust. Draco was unfailingly kind, he always put others first and himself last. No matter how tired he was, he was never short with anyone. Harry's admiration for him was deep seated and long lasting. Draco's gaze slid to the side. Harry pulled him against his chest. His nose tickled his ear. Malfoy let out a tiny gasp and squirmed. He liked being intimately handled. He felt his lips softly graze his slender neck. Draco's face heated. He summoned enough courage to meet his gaze. His emerald eyes twinkled.

"I'm... coping. And yourself?" Draco sighed, turning away again. All he could think about was the night before, when he received a letter from his parents about what Voldemort had commanded. He rocked back and forth on the floor of his dorm, mumbling at himself; I am not enough, I am not enough, I am not enough. He tugged at his hair, tufts come out, his heart beating loudly like a drum only he could hear. Malfoy forced himself to look at Potter, making all his worries disappear. For a second -- a mere second -- he had completely forgotten about everything.

"I'm worried. Worried about you. Please, if you can, tell me what's wrong? You look almost sickly." Harry explained, placing his hand on top of Draco's. He made himself seem less scared than he truly was; he felt as though he needed to stay strong for the both of them.

"Imagine the worst nightmare you've ever had, take a moment to recall it. Then imagine you were unable to wake up from it because you are already awake. All those bizarre ideas that make so much sense when you're asleep start to make sense with your eyes wide open. My brain is like... like an extinguished fire. Once it burnt bright and I knew of happiness and light; I could see a future... Now my mind is dark and ashy. I had so much hope, with my future with you. We were going to get married, have a family... But now, I'm going to--" Draco rambled, stopping himself in his tracks.

"Going to?"

Draco couldn't bare to look at Harry. He felt so guilty. He couldn't imagine how Potter would feel about this. The more he thought about it, the more tears began to fall. Oh god, he couldn't stop himself anymore.

"Harry...-- Harry, I'm so sorry." Draco spluttered, letting out a sob. Harry immediately, as though it were a reflex, wrapped his arms around his boyfriend; Draco's face pressed into his chest.

"Please tell me." Harry stated, in an almost demanding tone.

"You know... You-know-who has demanded that I'm to be killed."

"What?" Harry growled angrily. Draco watched Harry's eyes. Then he knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate. He breathed in real slow. What if nothing blew up? What if there were no consequences? Wouldn't Harry have to calm down? Wouldn't the shield clatter to the ground and let the pain tumble out? Harry was rigidly clutching his jeans, his eyelids shut so tightly they began to fidget and shudder from the bullish force, as if the very corner of his eyes were being pricked with a needle, crying silent tears that ran past his cheeks and over his knuckles until finally dripping onto the floor with as much a sound as the man's hushed agony. "Oh." He finally choked out, unable to say anything else. Draco could see him. He could. He saw pain in those emerald eyes. It had sat there for his life time, trapped in the confusion we all carry. Draco saw love too, the love you would have given were it not for the scars. Once again Malfoy's emotions turn jagged and his insides tight.

"And I want..." He lamented. "I want you to kill me."

Harry couldn't stop the tears now, his eyes already beginning to sting with pain. His body trembled as he nodded, frowning hard.

"I've barely been able to tell you how much I love you. You have no idea -- nobody does! You mean so much to me... I can't do this." Harry rambled, his hand gestures small and unsure.

"Hey, hey, I still have a week. So, lets spend it together, okay? Maybe then you can tell me?" Draco comforted, cupping his face and wiping the tears away with his thumb.

-

Draco stared into Harry's eyes, knowing that the pain was tearing him apart but he couldn't feel it, he had made sure of that. Instead he just sat, patiently awaiting his demise, contemplating.

"I'm going to miss you so fucking much. I already do -- it burns." were was the words of Harry's. Thirteen simple words constructed of simple letters, spoken quietly through his soft English accent, that cut through Draco. His eyes burned with an ache to sob as his stomach rock back and forth on the harsh waves of fear. Why are we taught to fear it, he asked himself. Why? Whether deaths is an eternal abyss of darkness, a fiery pit, of a clouded castle, we fear it. Whether it comes as a relief or a surprise, we fear it. Draco couldn't remember anyone teaching him to fear the inevitable, yet he did, but why?

"I'll always be watching over you. And, just so you know, I've left some things in my dorm for you." Draco told him.

"Like... like what?"

"Notes, some pictures, my wand... Also all the hoodies I stole from you." He admitted, a sad chuckle leaving his lips. All these words felt so sharp. This would be their final conversation and they both hated it.

"... I love you. So, so fucking much."

"I love you too, Harry." Draco stated, staring into his eyes. "Um. How are you going to do it?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while now..." Harry sighed, unable to look back. "I could simply use 'Avada Kedavra', but it feels too -- I don't know -- quick?"

"It doesn't hurt as much as other spells." Draco reminded.

"Yeah, I guess. But, I think I have a better way." Harry had been to the library several times, trying to find something perfect. Whenever he'd turn a new page, his hand just felt heavier and heavier until he couldn't turn anymore. He'd keep getting distracted, with every technique he'd read the more he fell into a fantasy. Imagining the now non-existent dream of his and Draco's wedding, the kids they were supposed to have -- God! They were supposed to grow old together!

"Hm?"

"Baneberry Potion," Harry stated, his throat feeling as though it were closing. He was about to choke. "it's a poison that'll probably kill you easily."

"Sounds easy enough." Harry hated how calm Draco sounded. He pulled the vial out of his pocket, it's red glow almost taunting him. He pulled off the lid, the smell similar to berries. This potion -- this stupid potion was going to end it all. Harry stared down at the mixture, his eyes watering. He couldn't stop himself. He brought the container up to his lips, sipping the liquid and letting it rest in his mouth. "Harry? Harry! What are you doing?" The blonde yelled. The next thing Harry knew, Draco had slammed his lips to his and nearly knocked all wind from his lungs. Harry hardly had a moment to react before he pressed his tongue to the seam of his lips and, at his grant of access, delved inside his mouth. It was a very passionate kiss with the strong scent of the poison being exchanged in the intermingling of their billowing breaths. Draco's arms reached up and tangled around Harry's thick, strong neck. In an instant Potter had pulled away and Draco arched up into his broad chest, his face turning pale. They stared at each other in an odd way, as if it were a silent argument. Their glances battled each other, until tears arose, and they found ourselves crying.

"Harry, stay happy for me." Draco hiccuped, tears rolling down with the same quietness. Harry sighed, wiping his own tears, watching as Draco's hand curled around his stomach and he staggered in mental and physical pain. His breathing would stop for a time only to reemerge like a drowning victim coming up for one last breath. Harry held him in his arms, leaning over as he sobbed. Tears stained his cheeks, making his eyes glassy as he whispered goodbye to his love. Draco took one final glance at him who clutched his lifeless body and smiled an ambivalent smile before walking into the deep abyss.

"I'll try..."

The boy on the floor was lifeless. Lifeless. His blonde hair was scattered in multiple places. His gray eyes were wide open, but his jade irises held a sudden sadness. His clothes, a dark, black robes with hints of green, were covered in the potion. Almost seeming as though Draco had tried to spit it out. His body was slumped over, half-sitting, half-laying on the cold floor. It almost looked like he was just sleeping. Harry's heart pounded as one question continued to race through my mind: Why did he do this? Harry held the lifeless body in his arms, unable to do anything else. He would've killed for one more minute. Please, Merlin, just one more minute. Draco's body was still so warm, he thought that there would be a slight possibly that he was still alive. Perhaps his poor potions skills could've helped for once? Harry just waited and waited, minutes turning into hours. He just sat there in silence, wanting something to happen. Draco's body eventually turned cold, his face becoming violently blank. This damaged Harry so fucking much. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't move. His body trembled. He didn't even know what to do with the body; he couldn't just leave it there, that would be disrespectful. Harry never, ever wanted to let go.

-

And Harry woke up. It hit him hard. Draco's final words like nails and hammers breaking Harry's heart apart. Today didn't even feel real. A nightmare come true, maybe. He found myself waiting to wake up. But that never happened. Harry just cried and cried. He cried out to God, Merlin, whoever was out there; wondering how it was possible for Draco to inflict so much pain inside his chest. Harry was alone. Completely, utterly alone, without Draco to comfort him. Who will wipe away his tears now? Who will hold his hand? Who will surprise him with hugs from behind? Who will tell him they love him and call him handsome? Not Draco. Not anyone anymore. Harry now lacked that someone who had been with me for over a year. That same someone who promised me a forever only to get killed. By Harry! And now Draco's gone. Gone like the ink leaving Harry's pen as he writes his heart out onto parchment. Did anyone else cry at all? Did it hurt them at all... when Draco was found dead? When they saw the warm blood on Harry's hands? After Harry explained to them why he had done it? They got him food. They took him back to his dorm. Harry let them look after him that night. The night when it happened. Oh, the night before the manslaughter was traumatic. Draco kissed him that night. He told him he loved him that night. Harry still worried for him, even though he was in Heaven now. Harry wished the best for him. Harry just wants Draco to have happiness again, even if that means Harry has to sacrifice his own. Potter would have done anything for Malfoy, you know? He loved him. Harry wants to be the very best for Draco. He was the very best for him, but now he wasn't there to watch over him anymore. Maybe that's what hurts the most. He had went to Draco's dorm immediately after his friends had found him, sobbing. He had tried to find comfort, but Malfoy's words were far more relaxing whilst spoken instead of read.

Mourn not the passing of my life well lived, yet celebrate. Count the times our souls smiled together, reached out so invisibly yet tangibly and touched. Death is only the end of a chapter, Harry, my love. And so as my body makes ready to return to the soil, my spirit will watch over you and live in your heart. It will bring sadness as we transform to this new way of connecting, yet this is part of living.

– Draco M̶a̶l̶f̶o̶y̶ Potter.

Draco Potter. Fuck, that made his stomach sink. He should've proposed to him, but his nerves got the best of him. He hated this constant feeling, it wouldn't go away! Harry couldn't believe he had killed the love of his life -- well, really, it wasn't intentional. He had tried to kill himself, but Draco stopped him. He needed this dreadful feeling to end; he couldn't wait anymore. The longer he was awake, the more miserable he felt. Harry felt dead inside. His tongue felt dry. His throat felt as if someone thrust a handful of itching powder inside. His eyes were scruffy. He had been laying in his bed for twelve hours straight. He wasn't in the mood to move. He was so upset, but he didn't want to be happy. He just couldn't. The only time he felt even slightly positive was when he read the notes Draco had written him. But even those hurt. 

"Sad" sounded so childish, like something flimsy, something one should be able to cast off with a happy reflection or the smile of a friend. But "sad" is nothing of the sort. It sits inside like the germ seed of depression, just waiting for the right conditions to grow, to send out roots to choke the hope out of your heart. It is the trough in which we struggle to return to the peak, always afraid that this time the rungs will be too slippery, too far apart or simply not there at all. It's like a void. A dark void. A never ending dark void that consumes everything, so your left feeling nothing. Empty. Nothing to subside your hollow soul that creeps in the shadows, away from any other human life because it's emptiness is so consuming it cannot bare to pretend that everything is okay. Nothing is okay! People walk around this earth each day and pretend that everything is okay, and it always will be. Why can't we all just admit that we are just hollow plastic dolls with a painted happy face revealing no guilt, sadness, emptiness - emotion.  
He knew he shouldn't be dreaming about killing everyone, but each dream had been so deliciously sweet. Making their blood run until their flesh was ghostly, cold, had filled him with such exquisite pleasure. Everyone gets dehumanized, Harry, everyone. It can be for your race, gender, age, education, religion... so many reasons. But here's the rub, the real one: teaching us to dehumanize one another induces psychopathy into us. It takes normal folks and makes them not care if others live or die. We aren't born to be that way, we aren't. The creator gives us a soul of pure love so that we can hold on to truth and honour. We are supposed to fight back, stay noble, be kind, think critically and be brave. The only other option is to be complicit in psychopathy with our eyes open; if you do that, my love, not even he can save you. Being the angel of your better nature is your only true defence, there is no manual for this stuff, there can't be one. Psychopaths subvert written rules, yet the power of love is creative and flexible; that's how we win. That's how we were always going to win.  
Some would say Harry was a fool to keep yearning for Draco. He had reached out his hand, stretched his fingers into the sunlight in every season, hoping that Draco's would come from the shadows once more. There are days Harry could almost hear his feet walking by his side, his soft words echoing in the trees, the way Draco used to laugh, though "giggle" might be a better word. Harry would care for him and consider it his honour; Harry would cherish him all the days they were blessed to be given; Harry would defend him with his life and love. So call Harry a fool and put the jester's hat on his head, he'll wear it with pride. He'll be a fool for Draco's love anytime, anyplace, anywhere. The difference is Harry could be happy with just your love, whole and well, yet chaos alone would kill me. One day Harry could find the right road, the one that leads to him home and pray the door will be open.  
But, he couldn't wait anymore.  
He thing he wanted most in life was in Heaven, so, he'd go after it -- he'd go after him.

" To whoever ends up reading this,

I've written countless suicide notes before some pages long, some barely a paragraph but I've never specified the root of my miseries. This is addressed to you but I want everyone who has known me to read this and become aware as I'm sure they'll assume and reach their own wrong conclusions.  
Although the memories are vague of the murder/assisted suicide, the emotional and mental trauma is still haunting me to this day. Because of the things I've experienced, I can't trust anybody. I admit I do trust a certain someone, but he's gone now. There is anger in me, and it stems from the fact that I couldn't do anything to protect Draco. The notes he had left for me have ripped me in half. His parents abused the shit out of him -- did you know that? This was what he had written; "Whenever she would lock us up, force us to vomit right after meals, prick our hands with needles and other forms of abuses she imposed upon us. How she has slept soundly all throughout these years is beyond my comprehension. I'm furious at the fact that she can sleep while I stay up all night questioning my worth and life. I'm furious at the fact that she's got the guts to present herself to society as a loving mother. I'm sorry I didn't tell you this whilst I was still living, but I knew what would happen if she found out. And besides, I know how protective you get over me..." And I couldn't do anything to save him.  
It is an understatement to say that I'm disgusted with myself. What hatred people might feel for me pales in comparison to what I think of myself. As much as I love my friends with every fibre of my being, I hate myself with every atom that is myself.  
I've done many unthinkable and unspeakable things in the 16 years of my life. Even, as much as I'm ashamed to admit. But the worst, by far, is the fact that I murdered the love of my life. I couldn't even attend his funeral. I can't go on living like this. The guilt is too much to bear. I'm afraid there will be others who'll become subjects to my twisted being if I don't disappear. I want to kill everyone I see; that's the reason I haven't left Draco's dorm. Everytime I think about anybody, I think of a way to kill them. Hermione? I'll drown her in the Great Lake. Ron? I'll drug his dinner and use a chainsaw to cut up all his limbs. I believe no form of help can change me, no amount of medication can control my urges. There is no sickness within me because I'm the disease itself. With my passing, I'm doing the whole world a big favour-- ridding it of a depressed, homicidal sociopath.  
I'm heartbroken because the only solution to my problem I've been given was, "move on." At this point, I don't expect anything to be done anymore. The only reason why I've even mentioned this is for the truth to be exposed. I want this injustice to end but alas, this is the best that I could do to achieve it. And I'm hoping that with my death that's exactly what's going to happen.  
A lot of people will be hurt with my passing, disappointed even, or maybe it won't matter. But I'd like to believe, no matter how much of a fucked up person I am, I died for a cause greater and bigger than myself. That's the only consolation that I have right now. And don't worry about me, I'll be with Draco by the time you are reading this. "

––– fin.


End file.
